


Captured

by MidnightStarShip



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Allanon Whump, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightStarShip/pseuds/MidnightStarShip
Summary: Allanon is captured by the Crimson, and taken in chains to the Warlock Lord’s stronghold.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Captured

Magic. It was a powerful force that had always been with him. He could feel it running through his veins and even though it always came with a price, he’d never deny his abilities. Magic. He wished he could feel it now, but it felt like it was sealed in his chest like a pocket of air, struggling to get out.

He’d never felt so powerless, like a child huddled in the corner of dark room waiting in terror for what would come next. He could feel the sense of fear in the pit of his stomach as he came to terms that he was completely vulnerable. Chained like dog. He felt a certain amount of disgust building like a storm inside him.

Allanon stumbled over the uneven ground and barely managed to stop himself from falling, the hesitation of his movement caused the chain connected to his collar to be pulled tight. It jerked him forward again. He reached out with his bound hands and managed to at least catch himself on his hands and knees.

“Get up, druid.” His capturer snapped. He wrapped the chain around his wrist and jerked it forward.

The chain went taut under his jaw and slammed his teeth together over the side of his tongue. Blood filled his mouth and out of habit he attempted to summon magic to heal himself. The pressure in his chest intensified, causing a flash of sharp pain. He gasped for air, using every last ounce of his strength to keep himself from just collapsing into the dirt.

“I want him alive.” Riga snapped at his captain. “Don’t kill him……yet.” He smiled coldly down at Allanon. “Best find your feet druid, before I change my mind.”

He looked up at the man before him and made direct eye contact with him. He may be at Riga’s mercy, but he wasn’t afraid of him. He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the protest from his body. He could feel blood running over his lip and down his face, but he didn’t bother wiping his mouth.

Riga watched the blood drip down across the druid’s tunic and into the dirt. He laughed under his breath.

The horses moved forward and Allanon followed at the end of his chain. By the time the stronghold came into view he was exhausted. His feet burned from the journey and his neck throbbed below the steel collar. He looked up at the fortress and felt a chill wash over him, this was the stronghold of the Warlock Lord. He had a hunch that Riga had picked this place for that very reason.

He walked through the gates of the stronghold and felt sick to his stomach. The last time he’d been here he’d been at full power. This time he was powerless. He felt a sense of fear daring to stir in the pit of his stomach. The Warlock Lord had promised him that he would die here. He might not be wrong about that.

“Impressive isn’t it.” Riga spoke to him, his piercing gaze almost felt like it was looking into his soul.

Allanon couldn’t respond to him if he wanted to. His tongue had swollen up in his mouth, and his throat was dry. He simply returned his gaze with a dull expression. Riga might think he was safe here, but he had no idea what was coming for him.

————————

Allanon woke up on the cold, stone floor of his cell and he wished he hadn’t. The moment his eyes opened, the reminder that his magic was repressed echoed in the dull ache around his neck. Groaning as he tried to pull himself up, he didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have. His mouth was still completely dry and he was confused at first that they’d even placed him in a cell.

He assumed they must want to execute him properly in the morning, probably make it a public spectacle. He managed to find his feet and saw a small tray of food and a glass of water. He picked up the water and took a quick sip, feeling a bit more alive.

Looking out the bars, he found himself wondering if this was what he deserved, to be executed like criminal. It was a dark thought and he tried not to dwell on it, but Wil blamed him for not telling him the truth, and for using him and his loved ones. He wasn’t wrong. Allanon knew that making a sacrifice was too much for some to handle, so he’d kept that hidden from Amberle, and she’d trusted him. Just as her aunt did.

He felt the hollow ache in his chest that he was used to feeling when he thought of Pyria, but it was more than that now. He’d respected Wil and his father, but in the end they’d rejected him. He rested his hand on the bars of the cell feeling the cold steel through his gloves. He thought of Bandon. He’d pushed him too hard and too fast, until the boy broke. He was tired of walking this earth alone, and he’d seen the boy as an apprentice, a companion. But he only seemed to destroy everything he touched.

Now he would die here, and there was no one left to care. He was friends with King Ander, but would he even question his disappearance? He doubted it. There was no one left in the world that cared about his survival. It was odd that it gave him a sense of comfort. In the very least he could die in peace, and he could be with Pyria again.

“You’re being selfish.” He told himself quietly. He couldn’t give up now. If he did, Bandon would be unstoppable. It was his fault that Bandon was trying to resurrect the Warlock Lord. He couldn’t flee from his problems and leave the world to burn, no matter how much he wanted to. He pressed his forehead against the cool steel. “You can’t sleep yet, Allanon.” He whispered quietly.

He stepped back from the bars as Riga marched into the dungeon. “Rise and shine druid, the day has only just begun for you.”


End file.
